


To Break a Colt

by Arithanas



Series: What friends are for? [4]
Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
Genre: Deny everything at all costs, Friends With Benefits, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Pre-Book(s), Sexual Confusion, sinship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 03:15:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4419032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1622, Paris. Porthos noticed Athos wasn't begging for his attentions, a remedy should be seek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is to grace  
> as the horse is to the rider.  
> ~ Saint Augustine

It has been weeks, Porthos noticed, and Athos had not made another advance. Porthos looked at him; he was there, paying attention to how the recruits improved their aim, with a tankard of wine filled from Treville’s cave. God knows how but Athos always got a wine measure from the house every time he felt like it.

Porthos chewed his mustache and leaned against the gate of Treville’s hotel. Truth be told, he had avoided Athos as much as possible after that first night and Athos had not made much effort to engage with Porthos. Athos always smiled at Porthos when their paths crossed and his hat always was raised a line as a greeting. Athos was politeness made flesh and that never failed to confuse Porthos because they both were friends, but maybe a little more than comrades, in any case deserved better than common courtesy... In any case, Porthos felt slightly offended. Athos did not seem to remember that they had spent a cold night warming each other up with a slight carnal rubbing, nor that bet Porthos had to pay, nor that secluded spot in the palace...

Porthos scoffed and turned away from the practice court, Athos really don't know how to keep a good thing in his life.

***

Night after night their paths crossed, and Porthos tried not to show how much that damned cold blood harmed his ego. Of course, Athos should be begging for another romp between his rumpled bed sheets; Porthos was very sure of his capacity and his ability. Didn't Athos moaned and groaned with each of his thrusts?

Yes, he did.

_That bugger…_

Still, Athos didn’t come back, asking for another meeting and that baffled him. To watch him, sat at the game table, placing his wagers as if he weren’t harboring such abnormal desires, made Porthos slightly mad. It took him three bottles to notice he was the one who has being concealing his desire for Athos and that sentiment was so unaccustomed and so menacing that he drank other three carafes in a vain attempt to forget it.

***

A month passed and Spring as approaching at an accelerated pace. Porthos finally made up his mind, if Athos could stand being a passive recipient of another man’s passions, Porthos has no reason to inhibit him from enduring the same experience. Careful observation reminded him that that, in fact, Athos had not changed one iota after that night; Athos was still the finest blade of the company and people around him showed him the same amount of respect; Porthos alone had changed his mind about the character of his comrade and this was due to what happened that cold November night. To be honest, it had taken him two weeks to overcome his greatest fear: that Athos could think less of him if Porthos asked him for another tryst.

That afternoon in the shooting park Porthos tried to find a way to speak with Athos privately. If he waited for the night, then he was not sure of going ahead with the plan. Athos, perhaps unwittingly, presented difficulties for a private interview for he was always in the middle of a group of musketeers, as if the society with his grave persona could make them better.

Porthos dozed under the winter sun, his mind was half engaged on idle fantasies; he almost lost Athos when he break from the practice and he directed his steps to the main courtyard. Before he could lost his heart Porthos ran after Athos who has just turned the corner. If he didn’t recall Athos their agreement maybe he wouldn’t gather the courage to ask his friend to be his stud.

“Athos,” Porthos said with the most solemn air he could manage, “I’m calling you on our agreement!”

“You better whip it out, Porthos,” Athos advised, giving Porthos a mean look; his fingers where busy with the laces of his codpiece.

“Right here?”

Porthos flushed and twitched in his place. He never expected Athos to be so forward, especially under the sunlight and less than fifty meters away from rest of the regiment.

“I’m trying to take a piss and people would believe you came to do the same…”Athos eyes were fixed in the wall in front of him, “or that you came just to look at my cock.”

Of course, Athos always had good head on his shoulders. Porthos stood next to him and tried to imitate his stance, if only to disguise their conversation.

“Treville wants me tonight, at his table,” Athos reported, his eyes spared a glance, “Do you want to come to my place?”

“No, please, come to mine.” Porthos was sure Mousqueton would not show himself until the next morning and he was not sure Athos could find another excuse to make Grimaud disappear from _Rue Férou_.

“Four in the afternoon is good to you?”

“Splendid.”

“It is set, then,” Athos resettled his shames inside of his clothes.

And he went to the main courtyard before Porthos could do the same, but that seemed to be the least of his troubles, Porthos needed to make his small place in the _Rue du Vieux-Colombier_ fit to be seen before the appointed hour.

***

Maybe, Porthos mussed and passed the comb over his mustaches at the same time, all could be boiled down to have a bit of humility; a good poke would never kill anyone. There was a tavern air on that topic; maybe Athos remember the story...

Porthos surveyed his abode and it found it respectable and Athos was no one to criticize a friend under his own standards. If the truth should be told Athos rooms were nicer, even if some things had to be hurriedly hidden in drawers and behind closed doors, but the house was presentable, the bed had clean sheets and the oil was ready. Porthos still felt some doubts that disturbed his stomach, but the way his mustaches twitched and his constant visits to the mirror made his sensual longings undeniable.

“I could do a lot worse,” Porthos said to his reflect as he preened himself for the twelfth time. “If Athos can serve it as good as he takes it, this is going to be a memorable fuck.”

Porthos made another round to the window, to spy Athos coming to the house, but his mind kept returning to Athos and what was about to happen. Before his mind returned to the sheer girth of Athos’ cock —because, if Porthos was to be honest, that’s the principal cause of his hesitancy— a familiar figure turned the corner and Porthos noticed, as Athos approached the building, that he took particular care on his appearance, thought the effort might have been made in behalf of M. de Treville and not of his comrade.

Porthos rushes down the stairs. Unlike Athos, Porthos did not have a still beautiful landlady, he shared his living space with a tetchy old man and the last thing he wanted was to cause a complaint. Athos made no comment; he just followed Porthos’ lead, losing some points of his doublet.

“Welcome to my home,” Porthos said, trying to sound cheerful in presence of his guest.

Athos glanced over the place as he put his hat in the first available peg. Porthos was painfully aware that his rooms were not nearly as comfortable as the two rooms of his friend and he tried to behave as if caring about it was below his station, although he cared a lot; once Athos made a step into the room the rickety bed with its threadbare curtains, the small table by the window and the small storage room next to another door into another room... All looked so poor and wretched in his friend’s presence, but Athos smiled at him, with his fingers losing the points methodically, just losing them before peeling it over his frame with one pull.

“You have a cozy place,” Athos said and shed his doublet and tossed it over the foot end, “May we start? I would hate to make M. de Treville wait for me…”

“ _Fie_! You are in a hurry, Athos!”

“I hate to be late, and I only have two hours to enjoy your company,” Athos explained before dropping to his knees and fidgeting with Porthos’ clothes.

“And do you think a couple of hours would be enough to breach the fort?”

Athos dropped his hands and his frown deepened as he stood, it was really something to see; even Athos’ smile faltered as if he was not sure if the smile was appropriate: “What do you mean, Porthos?”

“Well, this is the first round fired toward my way…”

“Porthos, I came here believing the route was crossable, please, tell me you are jesting.”

“Let me put it this way: you will put your elephant to good use, Hannibal, because you are looking at the Alps!”

That wilted the smile definitively. Athos extended his hand toward his hat and his expression did not bode well.

Porthos was quick to lower Athos’ arm, “ _Heu_! Not so fast! What’s the trouble, Athos?”

“I don’t do that kind of favors, Porthos, my apologies for the misunderstanding.”

“What difference might do if you are the first or the fifteenth? I’m here and I’m at least as willing as you were.”

“That was when I believed the siege has to be fight with a seasoned veteran and not with a novice.”

“Athos,” Porthos put his body between the door and his friend and advanced a couple of paces, “please, sit down, have a sip with me and tell me why you are refusing because, my friend, you are not making any sense.”

Athos sighed and allowed him to be pushed inside the room; Porthos smiled and offered him the bed, because it was more comfortable that his sturdy stool. Athos, rather grudgingly, sat on the edge of the bed but the suppleness of the bed took him by surprise, the ropes creaked under his weight and his hips sunk deep in the soft mattress; Porthos rushed to offer him a hand to steady himself. As Athos sorted his predicament out, Porthos cursed the fact that he never bothered to ascertain the suitability of the most important piece of furniture.

“I like my bed soft…” Porthos muttered and disguised his embarrassment while handing Athos a cup.

Athos just nodded and scooted his ass to put his weight on the bed frame. The startle erased effectively the displeasure of knowing Porthos was not the experience pillow-bitter he assumed.

“Now, explain yourself.” Porthos poured some wine in the cups, “I have grown to believe you found me at least a bit suitable for our agreement, tell me why I have lost that quality.”

“Don’t be like that, you have heard my objection,” Athos raised his cup and made a toast in his ceremoniously way: “here is for you to find someone able to relieve you from your unwanted virginity.”

Porthos extended his hand and lowered that cup: “Why can’t be you that fortunate person?”

“I don’t poke widows while they are mourning, and nor I do so with virgins of any kind, if I can avoid it.”

“And married women and men?”

“Married people are discounted from the outset; if they don’t respect their vows, I certainly do.”

“I understand the widows, but the rest?”

“Those people need someone to fill their void in in ways that go beyond... well, physically plugging their holes. I’m not that someone.”

“Now, you overly flatter yourself.”

“Do I?” Athos shrugged and sipped his wine. “Well, I know I’m worth it.”

Porthos raised an eyebrow and took a sip. Athos was annoying and arrogant in his certainty, but he had told not a lie yet.

“We made an agreement, Athos,” Porthos said in his defense, “we agree to pleasure each other and to remain as friends after as we were before.”

“Yes, but you are asking me to give you a pleasure you don’t know to the date,” Athos nodded and shifted his eyes, “I refuse to be your only source for that particular pleasure.”

“I am yours, I don’t see a difference.”

“Excuse me; did I encumber you with my needs?”

“No, forsooth!” Porthos exclaimed and put the cup by the oil, “Am I to burden you with mine?”

“In my experience, yes, you are bound to do just that.”

“No,” Porthos locked eyes with Athos. “I don’t even know if I enjoy it and I have not guaranties I will like to repeat it, but you have my word to remain your friend after the fact. If you are so skeptical you can always hold me accountable to it with your sword, dammit!”

Athos rose from the bed and walked to the window. Porthos let him be, he knew too well that pressuring Athos was a sure way to make him run the other way around. Porthos sat there and pore over each gesture because the slightest change of posture could be a sign with Athos.

“So be it, since you want it,” Athos sighed theatrically and let his shoulders drop, “but I know I’ll regret to make myself remarkable in that particular way.”

“My friend, you are late for that!”


	2. The race

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A good horse should be seldom spurred.  
> ~Thomas Fuller

Athos shook his head before finishing his cup, Porthos was busy taking his clothes off but he noticed Athos was extracting a cynical pleasure from his eagerness, but he didn’t care. When Athos refused to ride him Porthos really craved him and now he will have it, come hell or high water.

“Leave your shirt on,” Athos asked and approached with sure step.

“What a strange demand, my friend.”

“You will be more comfortable with your shirt on, believe me.”

Porthos did as he was told, if that was Athos last objection, he was happy to comply.

Athos stripped too, with short and efficient movements before coming near to Porthos and kiss him with a lot more of tenderness than he had done it before. Porthos felt those firm lips over his before Athos tongue caressed them and his arms encircled Porthos body. It was not surprising; Athos certainly knew how to kiss but the gentleness was unexpected.

“Do you trust me, Porthos?”

“You know I do, I won’t ask you to bugger me if I don’t.”

“Then take your hands away from your crotch, please.”

Porthos haven’t noticed his hands went down to cover his jewels. That was a thoughtless reaction, and before Porthos could think of the implications, Athos’ hand took the place of his own hand had left vacant, cupping his shames at full hand rather than taking detail with his fingers; Porthos enjoyed the touch and suddenly relaxed. Athos kissed him again and this time he was even more assertive, more like the old Athos Porthos craved.

Athos used his hand and his body to direct Porthos toward the bed, overwhelming him with his frame and presence, making a point with the force of his body: Porthos’ time has come to submit. Porthos found he wasn’t feeling threatened but rather thrilled at that demand.

“Lay on the bed, Porthos,” Athos said, “Time is short, and we have a lot to do if you are to know what’s to be replete…”

“That is precisely what I’m expecting,” Porthos started and felt back into the bed, indifferent to the squeaking of the bed. “I know the caliber of your musket!”

Athos laugh and climbed on top of Porthos’ bulk with a lot of more care, placing his knees on the bed frame, before using his hands to pin Porthos arms at the side of his head and kissing him even more eagerly, grinding his hips against Porthos’ gut, showing how hard that fully loaded musket was.

“Tell me more about your worries,” Athos asked and adjusted the angle of his thrust to caress Porthos cock with his own cock.

“You are going to rip me apart, it’s not a concern: it’s a fact.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence…”

“I only knew you when you are where in the place I’m now. By the by, may I gain use of my hands so I can caress you?”

“Not yet,” Athos chuckled and lowered his body so his mouth could play in Porthos’ neck.

Porthos gasped when Athos’ cock started to poke between his thigh and his ball-sack, the stiffness of the weapon was a little more menacing that the caliber but Athos nibbled the line of his beard and the caress made him groan and Porthos legs trembled a little.

“Now, Porthos, I’m going to let your hands go,” Athos announced, his breath caressing the hollow of Porthos’ tongue. “You are free to touch whatever you want…”

Athos did as he was promised and keep kissing Porthos’ neck, letting his hands slide over Porthos’ arms, leisurely and sensuously, before using them to support his weight. Now free, Porthos guided his hands to Athos’ compact and hard ass, to pull him better between his quivering thighs. Athos laughed and let his hands slide on Porthos’ side, under the shirt.

“Less worried, now, Porthos?” Athos asked rolling his hips in a slow, focused push.

“It is nice enough, but still, there is a great disparity of measures.”

Athos let out Porthos and, somehow, managed to balance his weight on the bed frame long enough to take the bottle of oil, before he needed to secure his stance with a hand on the upper curtain rail.

“Show me your hand,” Athos asked and when Porthos obeyed, he poured a spoonful in the hollow of that hand. “Please, hold my cock with that hand. Press as hard as you want.”

Porthos muttered something and did his best but the saggy mattress and the decrepit ropes made their best to keep Porthos on his back, but he finally managed to close his fist around Athos’ hard cock as he leaned to put the bottle on the floor. Enclosed in his fist that rod seemed smaller, but it was hot and firm, Porthos could feel the faint throbbing against the palm of his hand.

“Why do not you hold on with a stronger hand?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t, hold it harder.”

Porthos tried to close his fist, but Athos’ cock but the oil prevented him to grip that flesh too tightly. Athos moaned his pleasure and hold the curtain rail with both hands.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“I’m not made of steel.”

“I don’t see your point; you could just ask me to caress your shames.”

“You are thinking of the cock; think of the hand, Porthos…”

Porthos looked baffled to the way Athos started with glide his penis inside that closed fist, there was a pleasant sensation with each of the movements; as he raised his eyes from his hand Porthos had the intention to comment the feeling but then he noticed Athos himself.

The dying sun bathed Athos’ back, outlining the powerful muscles on his shoulders and arms, the light poured at the sides of his narrow waist, highlighting the sides of his hips and his long legs. With each trust the light draw attention to the fine hair in his chest and belly and the way in which that dark shadow began to decrease in the nipples and how it continued downwards in a perfect line until become thickened again under his navel. Athos had his head hung but his lips were visible on that light and he was smiling faintly. All the more so, the stance favored Athos, Porthos doubted he could find an artist in Paris who wouldn’t wanted Athos as model for Atlas if they could see him in that pose.

“Fuck me… I’m lucky”

“Were you saying?”

“Nothing,” Porthos caught himself and let go Athos’ cock. “Can we continue?”

“Who’s in a hurry now?” Athos put his feet on the floorboard to give some respite to his knees, no doubt about it.

“If you can endure it, I can too,” Porthos dug his elbows in the bed and raised a bit. “Who knows? Maybe I could enjoy it too…”

“Of course, you will,” Athos was busy find out which of the pillows was the downiest in Porthos’ bed, “I’m still to find someone who can’t enjoy a good poke.”

“If that were the case, people would rush to take that path…”

“Notice I have stated the poke must be good. Porthos, do me a favor and hold your knees up.”

Porthos needed to ball the sheets —and the mattress, too— to find a grip; regretting again not to have tightened the ropes on his bed. Athos helped a bit and soon his ass was propped by the pillow. The posture was strangely uncomfortable, Porthos wondered how he could concentrate if his back was trying him, but Athos’s finger touching his hole refocused his approach. From where Porthos was, Athos face looked like he was about to defuse a bomb.

“Are you sure it will fit?”

“Oh, it will…” Athos refuted, his fingers massaging the oil with a maddening slow caress on Porthos’ puckered ring. “You have room to spare. Believe me; your mother blessed you with a robust constitution one can safely lay siege to…”

“The last person I want to think about right now is my mother!”

Athos chuckled and pour a bit more of oil in his fingers. Porthos was right, that’s not a reassuring thought at the moment.

“Oh…” Porthos moaned when Athos finger’s insinuated inside his body, “Do that again!”

Athos hung his head and continued caressing the slick entrance, until he noticed Porthos trying to peek between his stretched legs heaving loud sighs. Once he got the entrance well identified, Athos leaned over Porthos body and silently demanded a kiss, Porthos was happy to give it as long as Athos keep caressing him that intimately.

“Are you ready to the main event?” Athos asked, his fingers were fully inside Porthos’ back hole and the sensation was fabulous.

“If you think you can cross the Alps.”

“I’m going to bath in the Trebbia.”

“Trebbia?”

“Yes, in Piacenza.”

Before Porthos could sort out the reference he was distracted by the sudden feeling in emptiness in his bowels, but Athos gave him little time to miss his fingers. Athos found his place between Porthos thighs and the head of his fat cock was placed at the entrance. In all honesty, Porthos started to fret a bit, but Athos put his hands at each side of Porthos’ face and looked him right in the eye.

“Porthos, I’m not here to conquer you,” Athos whispered before touching Porthos lips with his, “I’m here to share a little pleasure, if you want it too.”

“I want it,” Porthos almost said inside Athos’ mouth.

They kissed again, a long kiss, almost gentile. Porthos felt his face got hot, one of his legs rested on Athos’ haunches as his arms surrounded Athos’ in a tight hug.

“Invite me in, Porthos,” Athos asked, poking gently.

“I don’t know how.”

“You know, close your ass, as hard as you can.”

“But…”

“Trust me and try it.”

Porthos tried, because at that moment he ached to feel Athos inside him and if someone had told him he should bleat like a sheep he would have done without hesitation. It was hard, his hole felt loose and slick but he undertook the task with all his heart. Athos’ eyes were fixed on Porthos’ with the same intensity he watched their spars, maybe that’s why Porthos was unable to clench his ass for more than few heartbeats.

Athos cock slide inside Porthos’ body in one swift motion. Porthos felt no pain, just how Athos girth made his way into his intestines by separating Porthos’ flesh.

“Think of the hand, I’m almost there…”

“You better… because I feel like I have a God-damned bardiche up my ass!”

“And I just put the head in…”

Porthos was about to shout a coarse word when Athos let out a sigh and pushed in with all his might. Porthos’ body replied spectacularly, his back arched, his legs almost closed around Athos.

“Oh, GOD!” Porthos exclaimed, feeling how his shoulders dug deep into the mattress. “It’s the single most...”

“Porthos, I can perform without the commentary,” Athos was dry in his speech; his forehead was covered by perspiration.

“I swear I never feel… Oh, god, there it is again…”

Athos didn’t repeat his instructions, he just kissed Porthos to keep him quiet while he devoted himself to pound Porthos’ ass with methodical practice. By the time Athos was starting to pick up his pace, Porthos’ noticed he was drenched in sweat. Athos was right about keeping the shirt on, but such distraction proved to be very short lived.

Porthos, babbling something utterly incoherent, passed Athos' hair between his fingers and held Athos’ head. Athos’ thrust were making the ropes whine and the bed frame was drumming against the wall but the sensation the movement brought was unexpected, Porthos felt his back arching, his feet hooking on Athos’ thighs.

“There it is,” Athos whispered in his ear and renewed his attack with long and sure thrusts.

Porthos world became a blur of sensations amidst the movement, he was barely aware of Athos supporting his own weight with extended arms under the sunken mattress. All he knew that the pressure in his belly and the spasms between his legs were maddening and satisfying. When he regained his senses, he was aware of the wide grin in Athos’ face.

“Nothing can compare with breaking a colt…” Athos said almost to himself.

Porthos smiled, grateful and amazed at Athos potency. At that precise moment he could imagine the rest of his life under Athos’ weight.

“Athos, I…”

Maybe it was good that the tired ropes surrender to their combined weight at that moment, because Porthos was trying to say “I love you” and Athos knew it, one could tell by the way he eyes narrowed and his lips parted in protest; that expression changed in a blink to one of alarm when the mattress sunk all the way to the floor. Porthos took the blunt of the fall, his head bounced in the straw and only the opportune help of Athos could rescue him from the ruins of his former bed.

Well, that took good care of the love declaration.

Porthos felt Athos hand in his armpit and the way he steered him toward the sturdy stool. His friend was pacing the small room, retrieving his clothes while Porthos sat and tried to make sense of that ever-changing room. The hit was hard, and his vision was blurred. Athos fully clothed called his name, standing by the door; his hand was already on the peg and his doublet was open…

His lips parted as if he was about to deliver his apologies.

Porthos tried to summon his voice; nothing came out of his mouth.

Church bells rang with surprising volume and Athos muttered something for himself before leaving the room in a rush, hat in hand. Athos was late again; somehow, Porthos didn’t give a rat ass about that fact. He extended the hand and managed to grip the neck of the bottle.

Porthos was sure there was fewer circumstances that demanded a sip more than the present one.


	3. The finishing line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no secret so close  
> as that between a rider and his horse.  
> ~ R.S. Surtees

Porthos slept that night like a baby. He didn’t remember a more restful night in his life, but maybe that was due to Mousqueton getting home to help him re-tie the ropes and resettle the mattress in its proper place. There were pretty little pleasures that can compare to a recently refitted bed.

That morning he took a long stroll, as if he wanted to ascertain he was still capable of using his legs after the adventure of the day before. Athos was one to return favors in tenfold, Porthos had no doubt about it, but would he enjoy the act with someone who was not as congenial as Athos? With the heart on his hand, Porthos couldn’t name another man he would want to fill —even his brain knew that was a poor choice of words— the spot. Porthos trust in Athos was almost absolute, there not many men in Paris who could brag of it and the best part was that Athos bragged not about anything.

What about that stupid impulse to say “I love you”? That morning Porthos didn’t feel the need to repeat those words. He chalked it to the heat of the moment; Athos warned him that virgins were prone to ask for more than it was offered. Those words were more than any man can ask for... But Porthos loved Athos, as a brother-in-arms, he was a good friend. Porthos resolved to never say those words, Athos didn't want to hear them, and Porthos didn't deemed them adequate.

By the time Porthos reached M. de Treville door, he was determined to be all coolness around Athos. Not out of spite, but because his method worked well before. It was time to test it thoroughly. Such resolution lasted until he noticed Athos leaning against the railing of the main staircase, with a look of innocence. Porthos couldn't help but noticing the way Athos' pelvis was aggressively cocked, and that brought yesterday to today, sort of speaking.

 _Sang Dieu!_ Suddenly, Porthos felt his face hot.

“Sorry about the rope,” Athos said, instead of giving him the good day.

“It was a poor rope,” Porthos tried to shrugged the issue.

Athos, contrary to his custom, insisted: “Any harm from the fall?”

“I can assure you I’m sore in places that I never knew I could even get sore…” Porthos said and Athos winced in sympathy before his eyebrows dropped a line. “Is there something that matters?”

Athos just kept watching over Porthos shoulder but without a word, just a strange look on his eyes, a watered down killing gaze of sorts. Porthos knew he had to turn around because Athos would not provide information.

Behind Porthos' back one of the musketeers, the third son of one count or another, was standing with a strange half smile on his lips. Porthos wondered how much had he heard.

“Du Pont, good day,” Porthos tipped his hat, out of habit.

“Forgive the intrusion,” du Pont said and exposed a wicked smile.

“There was none, gentleman, there is nothing Porthos and I should keep a secret.”

“I just happen to overhear something about being sore...” du Pont tried to excuse his rudeness but he was not being successful at all, if one was to gauge Athos’ displeasure by how deep his scowl was.

“Ah!” The exclamation was deliberately short. “Porthos and I went to the banks of the Seine last night, to show him the Italian way,” Athos smiled at the confusion of his comrade. “ _Main Gauche_. Two-handed style. However you want to call it.”

“In the shores…”

“Of course, softer terrain increases difficulty.”

Porthos almost started at that vague allusion of his rickety bed. Athos was telling all the details of their last tryst in such brazen coolness. That man was infuriating in his ways to conceal and reveal the truth at the same time.

“In the dark…”

“Yes, and Porthos suffered a fall over a bunch of ropes…”

“While practicing fencing?”

“Didn’t I tell you we were training the Italian way? There was no way he could break the fall with his hands because those were otherwise engaged. Besides that amusing episode — Forgive me again for laughing at you, Porthos— last night we had a superb full moon and fog came from the river. It was memorable, wasn’t it?”

“Of course…” Porthos muttered, almost against himself, “memorable…”

“Let me know if you need a rub, Porthos,” du Pond said with a little ironic tone.

The insolent musketeer climbed the stairs while whistling a martial art; his feet were almost skipping the steps. It was obvious that little chat made his morning.

“I think you do it on purpose.” Porthos sulked.

Athos’ expression was one of genuine surprise: “What?”

“Mocking me.”

“Not at all, but let me know if the words: ‘ _anoche le he montado cual si de una potranca mostrenca se tratara_ ’ seem like a more suitable answer to you.”

“Of course they are not, forthsoot!”

“Fortune is, because last night I shamed myself of ways beyond your comprehension.”

“I believe that’s my line, dear,” Porthos protested and preened his mustaches.

“Why is it your line, now?” Athos’ face showed his candid surprise, “It wasn’t you who broke an important piece of furniture in your host’s house and ran away without making the proper amendments.”

Porthos gave Athos a stunned look.

“Let me know how much I must contribute to repair the mess I made,” Athos said and he had the good taste of looking ashamed.

“Bah, seven sous of rope were enough to fix the furniture. You owe me nothing.”

“I owe you a drink after I oversee the target practice, at least.”

Porthos nodded, a good drink among friends sounded just right.

“I must go. Good day, Porthos.”

Porthos watched him go and smiled. They are still in good terms even after the fact and he found he liked it that way. Porthos started to climb and made a mental note to ask Athos about that tavern air when they have those tankards in front of them. 


End file.
